across the bridge
by MercuryM
Summary: Sometimes, the things we do for peace are worse than the things we did for war. Set after 2x08, Clarke-centic.


**Words: **1, 295**  
Rating: **T**  
AN: **inspired by the promos for 2x09; have some angst to prepare you for tonight's angst-filled episode

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**across the bridge**

The Grounders' victory roar left Clarke deaf and her head pulsing. Her left hand was shaking, fingers numb from squeezing the handle of the small knife too tightly.

She didn't know what to do with it.

Her tears had stopped, drying upon her cheeks, heart cracking along the seams as her gaze was fixed on the lights coming from Camp Jaha. Raven's devastated scream rang in her head clearer than the unintelligible scansion of the Grounders.

Her hand was sticky with blood - _Finn's blood_ \- and Clarke wanted to wash it off until the skin underneath was red and bloody with her own life source. If she could cut off the appendage and throw it far away from her, even better.

_But_, but she couldn't.

A distant buzz in her ears let her know that the Grounder guard that approached her did so on Lexa's orders - he tugged the knife from her hand and Clarke's fingers and joints creaked in protest when they were forced to relinquish their hold but she let him have it, anyway.

There was blood under her nails and some had seeped into her skin and no matter how much she tried to wipe it off her trousers it was still there, a bitter metallic taste in the air around her that refused to let her breath freely even for a moment. Finn's death was her burden now, Clarke had been his executioner, and even though she knew that some will try and tell her that it was a mercy kill, she knew what she was.

A fucking _murderer_.

Finn was not Atom, Finn was not the Grounder she killed to escape from Anya or the countless others she was responsible for when she told Jasper to hit the Hydrazine and burn them up.

Finn is- _was_...

somebody she loved, or should she think now of him as somebody she _used_ to love?

Because he was dead now, wasn't he? The same hand that had worked so hard to save him from Lincoln's knife and poison had, in the end, _ended_ his life.

A full circle, how laughable.

Clarke didn't feel like laughing.

Her mind was disgustingly empty and quiet but Clarke supposed that the out of control beating of her heart and the barely there tremors of shock that had her limbs freezing and her muscles aching made up for her lack of thoughts.

Even then, Raven's scream was still on repeat, bouncing in her head and forming the single thought that said _she'll never forgive me._

Clarke was undeserving of her forgiveness, anyway.

Raven sent her to kill Lexa and Clarke ended up killing Finn.

It was for the greater good, Clarke knew, but _fucking hell_, how much she hated labelling Finn's life as a war casualty, something to be expected, something _unavoidable_, something preferred.

Finn wasn't innocent, nobody was innocent when they were at war, and while his death might have stopped further killings and forged a shaky peace between the Ark and the Grounders, it was also the greatest punishment for Clarke.

The Grounders quietened down and formed something like a tunnel from which emerged Raven, Kane, Bellamy, Murphy and Major Byrne, all unarmed, all heading towards her and Finn. Her mother was missing but for that Clarke was grateful; there were some things one's mother shouldn't see her child doing, murder, in Clarke's opinion, was one of those things.

Lexa's guards let them pass but Lexa herself kept watching.

Clarke took a deep breath and swallowed pass the lump that had formed in her throat. She opened her mouth to say something but instead found herself trying to hide her bloody hand from their sight.

And what good did that do when Raven noticed and her broken gaze filled with so much hate and revulsion towards Clarke, that the Griffin girl wavered under the onslaught of loathing.

Somewhere behind her two Grounders cut the ropes holding Finn's body tied to the wooden post and let him lay on the cold ground.

Raven's metal cane echoed hollowly - just like Clarke's heart now - throughout the clearing as she wobbled dangerously, her brace barely holding her up, but she remained determined in her haste to get to Finn.

"Raven.." Clarke croaked out but the dark-haired girl passed her by, hitting her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble back.

Clarke didn't fight it, she didn't fight the guilt or the shame, she didn't fight the hatred, she didn't fight the tears that formed when Raven crashed down next to Finn's body and started crying.

Bellamy paused in front of Clarke to lay a strong hand on her shoulder and squeezed until her bones were hurting - it was pain Clarke welcomed wholeheartedly. Then, he stood next to her looking at Raven's no doubt shaking body, face grim in his grief.

Clarke's next breath was shaky but she forced herself to pull herself together; Lexa was watching closely, _too closely_, and Clarke doubted that down here on Earth, weaknesses like this were accepted.

Kane and Major Byrne stood awkwardly few feet away, clearly uncomfortable with the number of Grounders looming over them. Murphy was uncharacteristically still, mouth closed shut, face white and taunt as he hoovered closer to Bellamy than normally. Clarke had no idea why _he_ had came along but to be honest she didn't really give a fuck.

It felt like aeons before Raven's wails quietened down, before Clarke found the strength to turn around and face her once again. But Raven had different ideas.

"Don't." Her voice was hoarse and her eyes were still brimming with unleashed tears. "Don't speak to me, don't look at me." Raven used her sleeve to brush some of the dirt off Finn's peaceful looking face. "Better yet, _stay the fuck away from me_."

Bellamy looked like he wanted to interfere on Clarke's behalf but she caught his gaze and shook her head no. She expected this, she _deserved_ this no matter who said what.

But he still spoke. "You did what you had to do, princess."

The nickname hit her like thousand little knives, twisting and turning and stabbing again and again and again. Clarke flinched back as if he had hit her and he let her slip from his grasp confused over her sudden retread. She bumped into Murphy and his quick reflexes were the only thing that kept her from landing on her ass.

"Don't call me that."

Bellamy's realisation was quick and horror-filled. He brushed a hand over his face, hand unsteady and nodded to show that he had heard her whispered plea.

She shook off Murphy's hand and turned back towards Camp Jaha - it was easier to look at.

"Does it ever stop?" Her voice felt a bit rusty but Clarke forced it to be steady. "The regret?" The guilt? The nightmares? The feeling of blood running down her arm as Finn took his last breath against her neck?

Murphy spared her a glance, understanding and resignation in his eyes, and he gave her a sardonic humourless smile.

"You can learn to bury it deep down but..._no_."

If it meant that she had spared him the pain the Grounders were going to put him under and had granted him absolution the way he wanted to, then maybe Clarke was strong enough to carry the torch of his murder.

But nobody said it was going to be easy.

Looking back to the girl she used to be, Clarke recognized that there was no turning back. The path she had chosen and was walking on was like the bridge they blew up - charred, burning, falling apart with no way to build it anew.

Much like her weeping soul.

_Thanks, princess._

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I'm still suffering from major writer blocks and lack of motivation and muse to write but this sprang up from nowhere and I decided I'm better off writing it than not writing at all. psst, I miss the Whiteness 'verse!

**\- M.**


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